


What Is, What Was, And What Will Never Be

by holyroller



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Repressed Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyroller/pseuds/holyroller
Summary: Sam dies early on, before he ever had a chance to make it to Stanford. This leaves Dean in a wreck and at odds with John. He abandons the hunting life in Sam's honour, finding himself a fun major on a full ride sports scholarship.But, like all things, there is fate. And with Sam Winchester dead, the angels are sure that Hell is vying for a new champion. So, it's on them to make sure Michael's vessel is secure.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! We're starting off 2021 with some destiel. Absolutely wild. Anyway, I've been working on this diligently every night and figure it's time to post some.
> 
> Enjoy! and thank you for reading!

His foot steps on a pile of leaves, paying no mind to the crunch of the twigs underneath as he comes to a stop at a spot he thinks is far away enough from the house where raging youths dance, sing, and probably ingest a tonne of drugs and alcohol to some electronic beat he thinks sounds like crap.

He takes a look back at the neon lights that flash through the windows and then down at the number he’s typed into the cell phone in his hands. He hesitates for a moment, but he looks next to him, at the empty space that should be occupied. The phone rings as he brings it up to his ear, looking away. 

_This is John Winchester. If this is an emergency, please call Tania McClain at 805-436-1344._

Tania? That was the fifth hunter this year. Still, the way John had just replaced him bothered him more than it should have. It was logical and he knew this, but, it didn’t stop him from using it as the jumping off point of anger as he heard the message end and the final beep.

“Hey, _dad_. It’s me, you know, your son? The one you don’t bother calling?” He sighs, regrouping his emotions and starting over, “I— I don’t have anything to say to you, but I do have to ask. Have you bothered wishing him happy birthday? I bought S— him a spot out here in California. I buried his jacket in there and I saw him today. Not actually saw him. You know what I mean.” 

And Dean sighs. He was never good at this kind of thing. He decides to sign off. 

“I’m at a party. Whatever I drink, I take a sip and spill some for him. I’m top of my class, dad. Professor told me I’d make a hell of an archaeologist one day. If I can’t make you proud, I sure as hell can make Sam proud. Don’t call me back.”

He snaps the phone shut and looks up at the stars, there are none. He’s too close to the city. There’s a pang in his heart. He knows what it is, it’s grief. The loss of his mother, his brother, and his father. But, he’s not going to think about that right now. Not unless he—

The snapping of another pile of twigs and leaves shakes him from the hole he was falling into. He looks back at this other guy who’s stepped outside. He’s got dark hair and his entire aesthetic seems to match Dean’s own bass pro shop wardrobe. The flannel he wears is bright red and his hair is a jet black mess, but it looks like it's styled that way on purpose. An unlit cigarette hangs from his slightly open mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at Dean with a set of blue eyes that seem almost.. unnatural. 

“What the hell, man? How long you been there?” Dean asks, pocketing his phone. 

“Not long. I didn’t hear any of your phone call, I promise.”

Dean frowns at the guy, but he’s really not in the mood to argue with some random he’s never gonna see again. He’s got to live it up for Sam. It is his little brother’s birthday. He gives the guy a final, judging expression, and heads back inside.

It isn’t until later that Dean finds himself sufficiently inebriated and happily nestled in between the warmth of a pretty girl’s thighs. She tangles her hands in his hair, tugging slightly and he finds that he’s at peace. 

He’s been out of the hunting life for a little over a year now and he’s been navigating the shift into becoming a respectable member of society fairly well. He brushes his teeth every morning, procrastinates his assignments, does his readings, and every now and then he’ll check if the salt lines he’s set at the windows are still there.

He’s just a regular old Joe now. 

The short walk back to his apartment is a brisk one. His eyes are hazy with booze and sex and there’s a lightness in his chest that he can’t ever really try to explain unless he’s sufficiently wasted. He’s drunk right now, but not nearly enough to do that. He did dump half of all his drinks, after all. 

Inside his apartment, it looks like a man lives there. There are clothes thrown about everywhere, candy wrappers, and the occasional textbook decorating the embodiment of the modern day ‘man cave.’ He slips into his bed and falls onto his back with a bit of a smile. At his bedside table, he turns to look over at a photo frame of two young boys. One’s funny looking, his features yet to grow into his face. The other is just very small, the bright smile on his face indicating the promise of what could have been. 

“Happy eighteenth birthday, Sammy. If you’re out there, I hope you’re proud.”

Dean learned quickly that partying on a weekday was never a good idea. He woke up hungover for his eight AM classes, fell asleep every ten minutes, usually threw up in a trash can on campus somewhere, and completely missed practise. This is why he chose to opt out of the weekday party routine and stick to the weekends. 

No, not really. 

His head comes up from the trash can that’s off to the side of the sciences building. The smell of garbage and his own insides makes him duck down again and go for round two. When he thinks he can detach himself from the sides of the receptacle, he fishes in his bag for a half-crushed water bottle and tosses that in to top the pukey pie he’s left the custodial staff as he heads over to where practise is happening currently. 

He’s not dressed and has no intent to play today, but he’d like to see the guys. And girl. They had a girl on the team. 

The walk is short and fulfilling enough that the nausea dies down enough for him to put on a convincing enough smile as he rounds the gate corner into the baseball field. 

“Winchester!” his coach, a middle aged man who Dean has never seen outside of the field, screams from across the field. The man has a voice that shouldn’t be that loud, Dean thinks. 

“Yes, sir!” Dean calls back, never one to back down from a challenge, despite it making his head feel like it was going to explode. He starts crossing the field, praying that the universe grants him a mercy and his coach will stop screaming. 

“Kind of you to grace us with your presence!”

Dean flinches and recovers to the irritated expression on his coach’s face. 

“You do enough partying, son, you can conga line your way right off of this team,” his coach says, staring at him with a look Dean would see on John’s face when Dean was learning to shoot and missed a shot. 

“Conga line? All due respect, sir, but the 40’s called.”

“Keep it up, kid. You think you’re hot stuff right now that you’re young. All of these boys right here, they’re gonna end up in the MLB. You know what that stands for?” 

His coach looks at him. The man’s eyes are a brownish green deeper than Dean’s own and they pierce into the hungover shell of a man Dean is currently wearing.

“Major league baseball,” Dean says with an eye roll that sends a wave of nausea rolling through him.

“Major league baseball!” His coach answers himself, too, ignoring Dean’s response as he continues, “and miss Anna we have over there? Also MLB bound. Just you watch.”

“I’ll be back next week, Coach Costello,” Dean says, “it was my birthday yesterday.” 

Coach Costello raises an eyebrow and gives Dean an amused grin, “wow, Dean, how come your mom lets you have two birthdays?”

Dean shuffles around, realizing he’s cornered himself and he sighs. He confesses, “my brother would have been eighteen yesterday. I had to have a drink for him.”

His coach nods understandingly. He reaches over and pats Dean on the back and says, “if you miss next week your ass is on the curb.”

Dean grins and nods as his coach steps out into the field and calls the practise session over. They’re to be back here next week, ready to run the mile again. Two boys about Dean’s age approach him.

“Thought you got eaten, man,” one of the boys, an average looking guy with average dark hair, dark eyes and oddly yellow-y teeth, says with a laugh.

“No thanks to you, Zach,” Dean says with a laugh in response, “you practically threw her in my lap.”

“Oh, give the man a break. He’s clearly hungover!” The other, a boy with light brown hair at about his shoulders and striking grey eyes yells, laughing at Dean’s discomfort. 

Dean swats at him, “Isaac, I’m gonna need you to shut the hell up,” Dean says with a scowl. The laughter dies down and Dean looks over at the girl, the only girl on the team.

“Hey, Anna,” he calls out. Not too loudly.

Anna, a very pretty girl with red hair, looks back at him from where she’s untying her shoes. She likes to walk in the grass barefoot. It’d have been endearing if Dean didn’t know the grass was frequented by people walking their dogs. 

“Grace us with your presence? We’re getting lunch,” Dean asks. She gives him a smile. She’s not the most outspoken person in the world but for all suits and purposes, she’s one of the guys. And they’re some of the girls, so to speak. She slips her socks off and walks over to the group.

“You buying, Winchester?” she asks. 

There’s a flirty smile on her face that jumps onto Dean’s when he responds with, “that’d make it a date, wouldn’t it?”

They’ve been exchanging that smile for months and it’s mostly for fun, Dean thinks. He’s never seen Anna really smile at anyone that wasn’t another woman. She smiles at Dean in the way he’d want to be smiled at, he’s pretty sure. He’d never make a move on her anyway. She was too close to him. He’d hate to lose a shoulder to lean on during linguistics tests. 

“Guess so,” she says with a smirk, hands on her waist. Isaac and Zach raise their eyebrows at Dean. Dean shakes his head.

“No can do, girl,” and Dean winks. He’s just really good at this. She laughs in response and pats him on the chest, the unspoken ‘atta boy’ understood as she heads over toward the girls’ locker rooms and he follows the guys toward the opposite side of the field, where the boys’ locker rooms were.

“When are you gonna date her?” Isaac asks, “she eats you up every time she sees you.”

Dean shakes his head, “Don’t get me wrong, I love the woman, but you can’t date someone you’re too close with.”

“That’s kinda the point of dating, Dean,” Zach interjects as they head into the locker room. Isaac ties his hair up and Dean waits for them outside where it doesn’t smell like sweat and testosterone. 

By the time the two of them are out, Anna’s joined them. They never discussed where they were going to eat, so, several debates later, they wind up at the coffee shop on campus with some bad coffee and overpriced sandwich orders. 

“So, how’s your final project coming?” Anna asks as she takes a sip of her black iced coffee like its water. 

“Nick!” the barista yells. They all look over, Dean’s still waiting on his panini.

“Not great. I don’t know what stupid ancient language is interesting enough to warrant eight pages of writing,” Dean says, stuffing another one of Zach’s potato chips in his mouth.

“Aw, Latin not cutting it for you?” she asks, adding, “I’m doing Latin. I think everyone is doing Latin.”

“Don’t have a 4.0 thinking inside the box, Anna,” Dean says with a curt nod. Anna laughs.

“Ashley!” another barista calls.

Dean and Anna look over this time, still nothing.

“Well, good luck with that,” Anna gives him a curious look as they turn back to their table. Dean gives her a grin as he watches her take a bite of her sandwich. He looks off in the distance at the line. People who showed up after him already have their stuff.

“Castiel?” another barista calls and Dean frowns. What the hell? He gets up and goes to stand by the counter. He’s gonna ask what the hell takes so long to heat up a sandwich. 

As he approaches the counter, he’s met with a familiar set of eyes. It’s the guy from the party. 

“Excuse me,” the guy says, cutting past Dean to grab the cup on the counter.

“Hey, I know you,” Dean says curiously, “you’re the guy getting off on eavesdropping.”

The guy gives him a incredulous look and says, “I— no, I was going to—”

“Have a smoke, I know. I’m just busting your balls, man,” Dean says with a grin. The guy’s expression shifts to one of curiosity in the same way that Anna’s does sometimes. 

“Ah, alright,” the guy says awkwardly.

“Dean?” the barista behind them says, sliding a sandwich and a latte over.

“Finally,” Dean says, “see you around… What was your name again?”

“Uh, Cas. I’m Cas,” the guy says before taking a stiff step away and walking along.

Dean watches him go, confused by the awkward introduction. “I’m Dean!” he calls back, nodding and winking at a different girl that also looked at him. He grabs his stuff and heads back to the table his friends are seated at. 

Dean could handle the pressured research needed to track and hunt a monster. A vampire? No problem. A werewolf? Forget about it. But, this? Sitting in a classroom and slowly being fed information about how probability works? It was so difficult getting used to that. Take the general education classes first they said, it’ll get it out of the way, they said. He finds himself zoning out. This wasn’t even part of his programme. 

His face is rested in his hands and his eyelids are dangerously heavy. For a second he sees a garden very very far away from the university classroom and his vision goes hazy long enough for him to shake awake at the sound of a voice.

_“You think I’d judge you for ditching math?”_

Dean jerks awake, looking around at the people sitting beside him. They’re too busy doing anything but pay attention. And he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. He’d already mourned. He didn’t need this. 

The voice he’d heard was Sam’s. It’d never actually happened before and the fact that it did doesn’t sit well with Dean. He’d been around his fair share of unnatural events to be put on edge. Still, Sam’s not there. The classroom is filled with living, breathing people. Not a little brother in sight. And yet, figment of imagination or not, it was… nice, to hear Sam’s voice. And especially nice to get his blessing. 

Dean picks up his bag from the ground beside the desk he sits at and makes a beeline for the door. The professor doesn’t say a thing, nobody does. He loves college sometimes. 

The air outside greets him in kind, the air is warm around him and he takes a deep breath. He’s got time to kill before he has to get to practise and then be back home to get started on working on one of many final projects. The deadlines were slowly creeping on him in a way no monster ever could. 

And yet, he can’t exactly go to a bar and score free drinks pretending to be a new FBI agent on his first case. He has responsibilities now, no matter how insignificant. Slacking on the team isn't going to keep his scholarship. He ends up at the boys locker room nearly an hour early and ends up changing into his uniform. As he’s tying his shoes, he hears the sound of a door opening.

“Matt? Fonz? Tony? Kellan? Zach? Freely?” Dean tries several other names, he gets through the entire baseball team. 

No response. He frowns. He grips at the thin little slab of silver that he has dangling around his neck, the one that’s sawed down ever so slightly at the bottom, as he walks over toward the entrance.

“Hello?” he calls out again. No answer. He unclips the iron wire he’s twisted into a bracelet. He feels naked, not having anything bigger on him, but he’s got enough to get him out of a pinch. It doesn’t take him long to sweep the entire locker room, but he doesn’t find anything. He sighs and leans back against the cold wall of the empty locker room. It was probably nothing, but the instincts his dad ingrained into him were hard to beat. Still, better safe than sorry. He re-clips his bracelet and heads out through the main office, lugging all of the equipment needed for practise with him. 

He ends up in the stands of the field, taking slow and heavy steps up and down the bleachers. There’s a feeling of peace that floats in the air that generally makes him feel uneasy. He’s hunted ghosts long enough that he knows there’s no peace in a life like his, and yet, here it is.

“You’d get a kick out of this, Sammy. Hell, I thought dad would, too,” Dean says to nobody in particular. He hears the clang of his cleats hitting the aluminum and stops at the bottom of the bleachers, looking out at the way the sun makes the grass shine along the well-kept field.

He hears a fluttering behind him and against his better judgement, he doesn’t turn around. Birds were a thing. He didn’t have to assume every single sound was a monster. 

With the energy only youth can harness, he jumps the railing of the bleachers and heads back out onto the field. He goes through the routine of stretches and runs several laps around the field. When he’s good and ready he lies down on the field, staring up at the sun. 

It’d really been a year this quickly. It was almost yesterday that Dean watched his little brother get ripped into, almost yesterday that Dean pressed his own father against a wall in rage, gun underneath the man’s chin.

_“Pull the trigger, Dean.”_

Dean shuts his eyes. Just thinking about it makes his blood boil. John had the nerve to be calm. His youngest son, full of promise, had been killed in front of them both and John had the audacity to not react. Dean had been a mess, sobbing into Sam’s chest. And John just stood there. Calm.

Dean’s thoughts get put back on the back burner when he feels he’s being watched. His eyes open and he’s met with a familiar pretty face.

“Anna,” Dean says with a smile that doesn’t reflect the emotions raging in his head and heart.

“Are you alright?” She asks, a curious yet slightly concerned grin on her face.

“Peachy. I ditched math and have a headache,” Dean says, sitting up. She sits down with him. 

“When’s your birthday?” she asks. 

“You don’t think I’m nineteen?” Dean asks, giving her a faux offended expression. 

“I think I’ve seen you get drunk enough to be concerned if you’re nineteen,” she says with a knowing expression.

“I’m an aquarius,” he confesses, tilting his head towards her. 

“I’ve known you for almost a year now and I don’t remember you mentioning a birthday,” she says, looking over at the equipment Dean’s brought out.

“It’s not my thing, really. I’ve never really had a birthday party before,” he says with a shrug. Sam and his dad singing him happy birthday over a slice of pre-cut cake was as much as he ever got.

“That seems so unreal. Were you… in a group home? Poverty?” She asks.

“Definitely poverty,” Dean says with another shrug, “I also am not a huge fan of gifts. It’s a combination of things.”

“We’ll throw you a birthday party, Dean,” Anna gives him another little grin before standing to go over and dig through the equipment bags for the bats and the balls. 

They get through some batting for a few minutes before the rest of the team starts showing up, their coach at the end. 

“Mile day, gentlemen and Anna!” Coach Costello says, blowing on his whistle. The entire team makes a break for it. Within the next fifteen minutes, the times get clocked. Dean isn’t last, and that’s all he can ask for. They line up for batting next. 

The end of practise brings more talk of upcoming projects, dinner plans, and someone else trying and failing to hit on Anna to the amusement of the rest of the team. Dean bids his goodbyes and makes his way back home. It’s not that long a walk, but he still takes a break getting himself dinner for later. He gets back to his apartment and jumps in the shower before getting the books he’d need out. 

Work is hell, for sure. He’s three pages into this essay and he can’t find it in him to think about civilization before 650 BC any longer. He rests his head against the book he’s looking through for reference and when he lifts it, the clock beside him reads 2:47 AM in big bold red letters. He grunts and manages to stand up and slog his way over to his bed, passing the mess of clothes on the ground of his room, passing Sam, who’s sitting at the foot of his bed.

“Move,” Dean grunts, letting himself fall face first onto the unmade sheets and fall right back into sleep. 

Dean wakes up groggy, having slept way too long. But, it’s his off day. He stays in bed half asleep, eyes shut and thinking about the stupid essay he has to finish. Maybe he can get Sam to—. Dean’s eyes burst open and he sits up with a speed learned from years of running out of hotels. He looks to his right, over to meet his little brother’s hazel eyes.

“Sam?” Dean asks, a look of pain on his face. He hoped it was a sign of Dean not being able to cope with the grief. Otherwise it meant he had to kill his little brother.

“Dean,” Sam says, with the same concern on his face.

“We gave you a hunter’s funeral…” Dean looks at him, asking for an explanation with his expression.

“I don’t know how I’m here, Dean. One second, I’m in a garden, next thing I know I’m watching you play baseball at a _university_?” Sam says, with a laugh and an incredulous expression. 

“It’s really you?” Dean asks, still not entirely believing what he’s seeing.

“I think so, yeah. I’m not a figment of your imagination, I don’t think,” Sam says. He stands and looks around at the apartment, “I don’t think I’d tell you that I think your space is disgusting.”

Dean laughs, turning to look down at the ground as embarrassment creeps up his stomach and into his face. He looks back at Sam and says, “I left, Sam. After you, you know. I…”

Sam sits down again, eyebrows raised. Dean takes a deep breath and continues.

“I broke the TV in our hotel room, I tried ripping the carpet out. Dad just sat there. I don’t think anything has ever made me angrier. I had to be there, the only one who could even _think_ about doing anything about it. And dad just sat there, Sam!”

Sam frowns, looking down at his own ghostly hands and then back up at Dean, “you didn’t take out the vampires that killed me?”

“Oh, we found the entire fucking nest,” Dean says, recalling the memory, “but, that was it, Sam. I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t… keep going, keep hunting, knowing that you— we talked about you leaving. You said the vampires would be your last.”

“We _argued_ about me leaving,” Sam says with a knowing look.

Dean takes a deep breath and Sam gets up to sit at the edge of Dean’s bed. He puts a hand on Dean’s arm and says, “thanks. I— I do appreciate this. A lot. I’m proud of you. And I’m glad you’re doing great out here. I think it’s what mom would have wanted for us.”

Dean’s lips twitch into a smile for a second before he runs his hands through his hair and says, “how long do we think you have? Before you get all vengeful spirit and I have to find out what’s keeping you here.”

Sam frowns again. He knows as much as Dean does. He says simply, “I don’t know.”

Dean nods and looks over at the pile of books he’d left on his desk, “well, until we get to that bridge, I am so glad to see you, Sammy.”

Sam smiles. It’s a sad smile, given the circumstances, but a smile Dean takes as a win nonetheless.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who gave this a chance! here's another chapter with some fun bits, i think.

The next time Dean sees Sam is at a game. They’re down nearly three runs, there’s a guy on first and a guy on second with two outs, and it’s on Dean and Zach to get them out of this. Dean scans the field from his crouched position, taking in the likelihood of anyone trying to steal. The guy on second is too far away, but Dean is sure they’ve made eye contact. Dean frowns, glancing at Sam standing beside Fonz on first. Nobody can see him, cool. 

He hears a cough and snaps back into reality, making eye contact with Zach and tapping his right thigh and signing a one, a two, a three and a one again. Zach gives him the slightest nod and the ball goes off a second later. Dean watches the bat hit the ball, he watches Anna scramble past second to grab the ball, tossing it to Isaac on third, too late. Isaac flings it in Dean’s direction. Dean’s already up to catch it. A perfect play. 

The team heads back into their dugout with their coach slapping each one on the shoulder as they pass through as he says, “that’s what we need out there! Great play Winchester!” 

Dean grins and takes a seat on the bench. Sam stands outside the dugout, leaning on the edge.

“Great play. Dad would have been proud,” he says with a grin. Dean finds himself grinning back. 

The rest of the game goes as well as anyone would expect given the lead the other team had. They fight and claw their way back into a tie and it ends with Dean sliding from nearly halfway to home plate directly into the leg of the umpire in a race against the ball thrown in his direction.

“Out!” The umpire yells. Dean argues with him from the ground to no avail. He sighs, getting up for the walk of shame back to the locker room as the other team celebrates the win. Still, despite the loss, the team seems to be taking it in stride. Sam’s disappeared.

“There’s another afterparty at the townhouse,” Zach nudges Dean as they’re dressing again. 

“I’ll give it some thought,” Dean responds, slipping his shirt back on and buckling his belt. 

Zach waits an entire second before responding, “thought about it enough?”

Dean grins. 

In about two hours they end up at another house with flashing lights and loud techno music. Zach leads them through the crowds of people to the kitchen where drinks are being served. He hands a few over that go down the baseball team’s chain of command until they’ve all got one in their hands.

“Not the worst time,” Zach assures Dean, “we’ll get em’ next time.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, eyeing a girl that’s walking around in a miniskirt and a sweater. He’s forgotten the game already. He watches her step out of the front door of the house. And who is he, to let a poor defenseless college girl potentially walk out of the house into a dangerous situation? He follows her out the door and watches as she picks up the pace, heading toward the end of the street the house is on, where the commercial buildings are. He frowns. That alerts other senses of his.

“This can’t be something,” Sam says, appearing beside him.

“And if it is, Sam? What if there’s a whole ass vampire at this university? I can’t just let that go,” Dean says, quieter than he would normally. He keeps his distance, enough to keep her in sight but not give himself away. And sure enough, she steps into an alleyway, all by herself. Dean grunts to himself as he peeks around the corner. There’s no one in the alley. 

He takes a step forward into it, reaching for the silver pocket knife he keeps. If it’s a vampire, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to wrestle one down. His steps are careful, trained. Sam is behind him, and while it doesn't help his situation, it helps his motivation.

He reaches halfway down the alley and frowns. The girl just disappeared. When he turns around, he nearly bumps into her.

“Hey, handsome,” she says, blinking and confirming the worst. Though, he’s never met a vampire with black eyes. She lunges at him and Dean manages to scrape himself away, plunging the knife into her chest. She looks down at the knife and then frowns at Dean. He watches her pull it out and hears it clang against the ground as she says, “and here I liked this meatsuit.”

Meatsuit? Both he and Sam share this thought. 

Dean raises his fists, ready to go another round with whatever the hell she is when he watches a blade come through her stomach. He watches red lights flash in her eyes and her mouth before the blade is removed and standing in her place is… that guy. 

That same guy.

 _Cas_.

“Are you alright?” he asks, walking over closer to Dean. And it all makes sense, he thinks.

“You’re a hunter,” Dean says, absolutely sure. 

Cas’ lips form a straight line and he says, “of sorts.”

“You’ve been working a case… That’s why you were at the other party. Why I’ve seen you around,” Dean says, pocketing his knife.

“No, not exactly,” Cas says, almost awkwardly shifting before adding, “I attend the university. I’m majoring in political science with a minor in philosophy.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise up and he gives Cas an impressed look. He says as much, “wow. Good for you, man. My brother would have loved you.”

“I wouldn’t have kept hunting at school, Dean,” Sam adds in his head. Shut up, Sam. Dean thinks. 

“You shut up!” Sam says before vanishing. 

“I would be happy to meet him,” Cas says, running a hand through his hair and reaching down to grab the girl’s body and pull her off to the side, toward some garbage bins.

“You’re just gonna throw it in the trash?” Dean says incredulously. Really?

“Do you have a better suggestion? I’m personally opposed to potentially being spotted carrying a woman that will be found dead tomorrow,” Cas says with a frown.

Well. Dean can’t argue with that, really. He helps Cas toss the body around some bags. It doesn’t sit well with him, given he was taught to always get rid of any evidence, but, well. He looks over to Cas who’s now inspecting the area. 

“How long you been tracking this… whatever this is?” Dean asks.

“A demon,” Cas says flatly.

“A demon?” Dean echoes. He’d heard of his dad taking one on a while back. They were meant to be intense and here was this guy, nothing impressive physically, in this baby blue sweater that matched his eyes. Took one out without a sweat. Dean’s very impressed. 

Cas nods, walking towards the other end of the alley. They shouldn’t hang out in the area, obviously. Dean was just a little rusty. 

“Why was there a demon at UC Riverside?” Dean says with a frown. What the hell could a demon do for college kids?

“Demons can do many things. They make deals with students down on their luck, for love, for anything.” 

“Do you think there are more of them?” Dean asks as they round the corner back onto the street. It’s late enough that there isn’t anyone on foot around them. 

“Possibly,” Cas says. Dean nods.

“Do you need any help? I’m good with lore… or a fight,” Dean says with the smile he’d use on a pretty girl. It’s his most convincing smile and he’d be lying if he said the thought of going on a hunt didn’t excite him. 

“Um, sure,” Cas says, looking around. He’s checking if anyone’s following them. 

“Great. You dorm?” Dean asks, conducting a check of his own. Cas nods. 

“I’m in Lot A. Number four zero six,” Cas says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Cool,” Dean says with a grin, “I’ll catch up with you soon. I live on, uh, Washington and Avenue fifty three.”

Dean watches Cas nod, a little disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm.

It takes Dean a week to get around to showing up at Cas’ place. He’s not entirely sure why it took him that long, or he does, and he just doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s been thinking about Lot A for the past week, going as far as missing an assignment that was due because he’d spend more time researching demons. He calculated his grade and he’ll be fine, but he really hasn’t stopped thinking about demons and the way Cas looked when the demon fell to the ground. 

It occurs to him as he’s climbing the fourth set of stairs that not only is he out of shape, but also that he didn’t ask Cas what weapon he’d used to kill the demon. He never remembered his dad having anything demon-specific.

He takes a deep breath, holding the box of donuts he’d bought against his side and finally knocks on the door. He hears a bit of shuffling behind the door before it opens a crack and he sees the familiar shade of blue appear.

“Hey!” Dean says with a grin, “it’s me, Dean? From the alley— ”

“From the alley?!” Another voice from behind Cas calls as Cas steps away to open the door more fully. Dean’s smile falters a little bit. Cas had a roommate. 

“Follow me,” Cas says plainly.

He steps inside and follows Cas through the very well kept living room. By collegiate standards, the place was spotless. 

“Hey,” Dean says with a quick twitching of his lips. He greets who he presumes is Cas’ roommate. It’s some skinny guy with light brown hair that’s lounging on the couch, bag of chips in hand, watching TV. Couldn’t be a hunter. Dean’s mood lifts just enough. The other guy nods at him as he passes by with Cas. Dean manages to get a glimpse of the look the guy gives Cas. It’s… unreadable, to say the least.

Before Dean can think about it for too long, he’s directed to a door that’s undecorated. Both the bathroom and this guy, who Dean now knows is named Josiah, have large signs indicating what’s behind the door. Inside, Cas’ room is simple. It’s got a bed with blue sheets, a mirror, a dresser, a desk and a corkboard with several newspaper clippings surrounding disappearances around the university area. There it is. 

“Do you have any new information?” Cas asks. Brass tacks.

“Not really, just more stuff on the lore,” Dean responds with a nod. He holds out his donuts and gives Cas another grin.

Cas gives him a curious look before looking down at the square pink box in Dean’s hands. Dean feels a pang of awkwardness that he feels obligated to kill.

“I brought donuts?” Dean says, gesturing to the box.

“I see,” Cas says, turning back to the desk. Dean frowns. He looks down at his donuts and promises them Cas didn’t mean it. He sets the box off to the side on the dresser and follows Cas to the desk. He sees notes, both demonic and regarding the composition of something called a Super Pac.

“There hasn’t been any real demonic activity, not outside of that woman who I traced to having made a few deals at that party,” Cas says, picking up a sticky note with two names written down.

“How do you know it's them?” Dean asks, genuinely curious.

“Frank Belham was a man on probation in the Business programme, he has stock in a fortune five hundred company now. Nancy Reeler was run over by a golf cart driving full speed on campus and not only survived completely unscathed, but now has a million dollar lawsuit on her hands,” Cas says.

Dean frowns, “that’s… I don’t think those are signs of demon deals… who’d sell their soul for something like that?”

“Poverty isn’t fun, Dean,” Cas says, “and college kids are stupid.”

Dean shrugs nonchalantly. Sure. Maybe Cas is onto something. It’s all worth checking out, Dean thinks. Still, he’s too young to act like he’s FBI. Plus, he goes to this school. He can’t exactly tell people he’s school policeman Bruce Springsteen.

“Have you talked to them yet?” Dean asks. Cas shakes his head.

“I can, if you want,” Dean says, a grin coming up on his lips again.

“I would appreciate that,” Cas says, his expression unchanging. This guy doesn’t smile ever, apparently.

“On it, boss,” Dean says with another grin that’s meant to be inciting. It doesn’t get anything out of Cas. Dean looks back at the pink box he’d brought with him and adds, “you can keep those.”

Cas gives him a curious look. Dean takes it as a win.

The next day Dean’s got his best wool sweater on and is tracking down a business major. He’d heard these kinds of people were all sorts of messy. He steps into the air conditioned office and greets the student worker behind the desk. It’s a gangly looking guy with dark brown eyes. 

“Hey, man,” Dean says with a friendly grin. The guy looks up from the book on the table and at Dean for exactly a second before jerking his head back down at the book. Dean frowns and shoots his shot, he leans over on the counter and says, “uh, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He told me he has this class right now and I honestly don’t remember what it was. I really _really_ need to see him to get a textbook of mine back before I go into my next class right now and—”

“I- I can’t do that. Private information and all,” the guy looks up from his book, a light tint of pink across his face and crosses his arms against his chest. Dean gives him a curious look. The demeanor- it.

Oh.

_Oh._

Dean looks down for an entire second; and in this second his chest tightens a bit and he realizes that there’s only one way to move forward with this. He looks up again at the guy with a friendlier smile.

“I get that, I really do, but could you do me this really really big solid. Man, I’d owe you one,” Dean leans forward a bit, giving the guy a better look at his eyes, the freckles that dot his face.

The guy looks away.

“I could get fired—” he says, hugging his arms closer to his chest.

“I know, I know. It’s why I’d be so appreciative. I won’t tell a soul. Tell you what, you help me find my friend, and I can stop by later. When are you off?” Dean says with a wink.

The blush on this guy’s face deepens and Dean smiles softly. This is… uncomfortably easy.

“In a few hours,” he says, looking up at Dean again. Dean looks up at the clock and looks back with the smile he’d give a pretty girl.

“Perfect. I’ll rush up, get this book from that asshole Belham, head over to my own class so I don’t fail this open book test, and I’ll be back here before you know it. Sound good?” Dean leans forward.

“Y-yeah,” the guy says with a shaky laugh, “what’s uh, your name— your friend’s name?”

Dean laughs softly, leaning on the counter with both elbows, “guy’s name is Belham, B-E-L-H-A-M, and I’m James. Morrison.”

Behind him, Sam laughs.

Finding the woman is nowhere as easy as flirting with the skinny guy at the office. Dean doesn’t think about it too long, especially since it left him feeling lightheaded when he stepped out of the office. Nancy, though? It takes Dean all of a week to find her. He ends up first with a professor that now believes Dean is Nancy’s stay-at-home boyfriend while she goes to school. This leads him to her best friend who shows him a picture of Nancy with a new sports car. Lawsuit settled. And quickly.

Dean takes his information back to Cas, sans donuts. He walks by Josiah again. There’s something off about the guy, Dean thinks.

From behind him, Sam says, “he’s wearing the shirt that Cas was wearing the last time you came.”

Sam’s observation sends a chill up and down Dean’s spine. But, still he can’t really dwell on that right now. He steps into Cas’ room and finds the guy sitting at the desk, his face buried in some textbook.

“Hey, Cas. Is that short for something?” Dean asks, realizing that Cas is probably a nickname.

Cas frowns at the text he’s looking into and in the next second he looks up at Dean with a curious look and says, “did you know that the panopticon was not designed to—”

“Cas,” Dean says with a little frown of his own, “didn’t come here for a lecture.”

“Right,” Cas says, shutting the book, “sorry. Did you speak with the students?”

Dean nods, “Frank met a guy at a party who in the right light appeared to have black eyes. So, I think he’s a positive. Nancy I couldn’t talk to, but it looks like she’s swimming in Benjamins, so.”

“Swimming in… who?” Cas squints as his voice raises an octave in surprise.

“She’s filthy rich now,” Dean says, also confused as to how this guy had never heard that expression before.

Cas’ frown remains intact. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face before turning to look at the desk and then back at Dean. He says, “it appears that there is demonic activity around campus. The problem now is luring them out.”

“Uh. Wait, Frank said party, right? We can cruise some of the frat parties and see if we can sniff one out?”

“Alright,” Cas says with a nod.

“So, uh. Are you and uh, weirdo out there,” Dean starts awkwardly.

“Dean, don’t ask him that,” Sam says, appearing beside Cas.

“Am I….?” Cas starts, squinting again. 

“You know, uh, are you uh, _involved_?” Dean finishes his awkwardly worded question.

Cas frowns, eyes still squinting, trying to read Dean, “am I involved? With my roommate? As in do I… perceive him?”

Dean frowns now. He figures that answered his question enough. He shakes his head, giving Sam a dirty look before his little brother vanishes again, “forget it, Cas. You didn’t answer my question earlier. Is Cas short for something?”

“Yes,” Cas says, very simply.

“Short for what?” Dean says, leaning forward a bit, a gesture for Cas to give Dean his full name.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas responds. And Dean laughs.

“You weren’t named after Butch Cassidy, were you?” Dean asks, the idea coming into his head with an incredibly wide grin that gets wider when Cas doesn’t answer him.

“Dude, that’s awesome,” Dean says, “I’d tell everybody if my name was Cassidy.”

“That’s not—” Cas stops and sighs, “will you tell me if you hear of any fraternal parties?”

Dean nods. He steps towards the door and gives Cas a pat on the shoulder as he steps out. It was just Dean’s luck. He _would_ meet the most awkward hunter imaginable who also happens to have the coolest name. Oh, to be named after somebody as cool as Butch Cassidy. Dean was named after his grandma. Not as fun.

He gets word of another party after his next practise. He and Zach are headed out of the lockers when Zach mentions a rager going down next weekend. Alpha Sigma Cappa Pi or whatever.

“You gotta be careful with them, though,” Zach says with a grin, “they’ll kill you if they find out you’re there and not in the frat.”

Dean grins back, “don’t worry, I’m sneaky.” He winks at Zach and Zach rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it all the way through! Let me know if you've enjoyed and are interested in more. (:


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